Dear Berin:
I have no clue if you remember me. The last time we saw each other, we were in fifth grade, probably the dorkiest we'd ever be in our lives. Here's the only pic of us I could find on short notice... you always seemed to wear striped shirts. And I always seemed to wear... well, stuff. Anything to detract from that awful perm.
I'll be honest. 
I barely remember you. But I do remember you were a smartass in geek's clothing. And seeing as fifth grade was the last time I really got to know my classmates before some unspoken consensus to start treating the deaf students as untouchables took effect, I feel confident saying that.
I figure as far as faint memories, remembering that you were smart enough to sass the rest of us ain't half-bad, is it?
So it's been more than 20 years since I saw you last. I never thought I'd see or hear of you again. But I did. And man, what a surprise it was. See, I grew up to be a member of a thriving deaf community, one where I found support for the many ways the world didn't understand me (and some even the other deafies didn't).
I guess you grew up to be some moderately sucessful lawyer, or some other position where you had enough authority bestown upon you by certain members of the hoi polloi to write an op-ed in a national paper arguing that people like me shouldn't complain and ask that the internet be made accessible, just like we've had to complain to make sure classrooms were accessible, movies, phones, airports... even the freaking doorbell and fire alarm. You name the technological innovation, the deaf community has always had to fight to opt in.
In the grand scheme of things, your op-ed isn't really that important to me. The bill is.
But here's the thing. When I saw your name on that op-ed, I instantly flashed back to our schooldays. I remember talking to you. I remember my transliterator hovering over us, making sure communication was flowing smoothly (she's the redhead in the tan jacket at the left in the pic, btw. And her presence had to be legislated too), not just that I understood you, but you understood me too. I remember you staring at her, perplexed, and then slowly coming to realize that it was a good thing she was there.
And I could not believe that someone who spent time in one of the best mainstream programs for the deaf in the country could one day grow up to write one of the most thoughtless, reductive things about accommodations for people who have been disabled by their environment.
Frankly, Berin, the stuff you said was dumb.
Let's see what you said that was so stupid, shall we?
First, you went into a fawning soliloquy about the wonders of technological advances. "It made the digital revolution possible, and it's now extending the
promise of that revolution to users with a wide variety of special
needs," you wrote of the computer revolution. As an example, you trotted out Voice Recognition Software.
Cue punch to the gut number one.
Did you even stop to think about what you were saying? You spent at least part of your childhood trying to decipher my garbled utterances. Yeah, I think voice recognition software is pretty damn cool. And so do you -- "What's merely cool for many can be life-changing for the disabled," you said.
This is where casting wide generalizations get you in trouble. VRS is only good for a select few who are disabled by their environment in certain ways. And for others, like me, it actually scares us when we think about a world where VRS is ubiquitous. I'm gonna be in a real shithole, then, Berin. And not at all independent like technology is supposed to make me. What the hell am I supposed to do when a machine asks me for my voice ID, but doesn't offer any other method of input? So, yeah. Great for some people, not so great for others.
This is the kind of Universal Design theory HR 3101 has in mind -- it asks that the internet be made accessible by making sure providers remember to, at the very least, provide adaptable interfaces. So that certain media will be accessible to the blind, to the deaf, AND to the deaf-blind.
But your point? That so many technological advances are being made everyday, it'll be to everyone's benefit eventually, and that disability group advocates are hampering the process by asking for access.
"Despite such advances, many advocates for the disabled complain about
the inaccessibility of some hardware interfaces, particularly for
mobile devices, and want the government to force all device
manufacturers to implement certain standard features. That's the wrong
approach," you wrote.
Second sucker punch, Berin.
Those cool technological innovations of which you speak? They were put there for a reason. Because people need them, want them. And when people need or want something, what is so wrong with asking for it? And when it doesn't come, what? You want us to wait for someone to think of it?
Right. Like someone just invented the TV and then thought -- ooh, let's make sure what people say on TV is visible in the written word! Yeah, right. That was a long, hard-fought battle. And we're still fighting. Not nearly enough is captioned, still, today.
But let's see why you think it's the wrong approach: "'Equal access' to the latest gadgets may sound appealing, but
policymakers should recognize that regulation will only stifle the
innovations that could most help the disabled."
Ha. You know what that sounds like?
That sounds like the excuse Netflix Chief Product Officer Neil Hunt began writing when deaf members of Netflix started complaining that the instant-play feature that was part of their paid membership wasn't accessible to them. "Captioning is in our development plans but is about a year away," he blogged. He followed with reasons why it was too hard and restrictive to do it right now -- this, while at the very same moment he typed his blog, Hulu was broadcasting TV on demand, much of it with captioned content that pleased the masses.
Or it sounds like the excuses lawyers for the Harkins theater chain in Arizona gave, arguing, "We have the right to choose what services we provide, and that is our
choice... We let everyone come into
our theaters and see our (non-captioned) movies, and that is what ADA
requires us to do." This, while theaters are dropping thousands upon thousands of dollars to support 3-D movie experiences.
You know what happened? The judge laughed at them.
But I'm not laughing at you. I'm really sad.
Sad that you think we should let technological innovators have free rein to invent things that coddle and exclude, unstimulated by challenges like those that people like me represent.
Innovation will be hindered by requests for access to said innovation?
Nonsense. That defies the very definition of innovation.
Your complaint? "Accessibility mandates impose real costs, such as steeper prices, increased bulk and reduced functionality."
My answer? Technology will find a way. It always has. We as a human race have always outdone ourselves in that arena, and we will continue to do so.
Berin, the NAD's response to your op-ed was far too easy on someone like you, who wants to tell someone like me, "it's too expensive and too much of a hassle for supergeniuses to accomodate you. Just wait until whenever it gets cheaper. It'll happen... someday. But for now, go sit quietly and stop it."
If I recall correctly, in school, you were kind of a skinny little dweeb with a big voice. I liked you anyway.
But, man, if I'd known you'd grow up to write this someday? I'd have thrown that dodgeball at you so hard you'd have woken up a lot shorter than you already were.
Hope you're well,
Allison (from Mrs. O'Brien's fifth grade class)
